


Beroya'se

by Blue_394



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mandalorian Culture, Mutual Pining, Permanent Injury, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_394/pseuds/Blue_394
Summary: “I don’t like this,” Din warned in Mando’a.Aya’s helmet turned to him, chin tilted close to her neck as she gave him a poignant look.“We’ve shared a bed before.”*The job was simple: find the bounty and return it. The ex-imperial didn’t care if the creature was dead or alive; the warlord would pay handsomely in Beskar either way.Knowing how much it would mean to bring home Beskar, Din convinces Aya, a fellow Mandalorian bounty hunter, to join him for one last hunt. Together, they find the child; they return it.Then, Din does the one thing he isn’t supposed to do: he goes back for the kid. He really should have warned Aya - especially as she was sitting in the cantina, haggling for a ship, when news broke of Din’s activities.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Beroya'se

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had always been an unspoken understanding that they would part ways. Eventually, they would retire and return to their coverts; they were merely travelling in the same direction at the moment. However, Din thought - hoped - he wouldn't be losing an effective, efficient partner so soon.

Having travelled across large sways of the Outer Rim, there were few things Aya disliked more than tracking a bounty on a frozen wasteland planet. The crunching snow gave away her position. The biting cold whistled through the slits in her armour, freezing her to the bone.

However, her partner didn’t mind. Din let the wind howl around him; his thick flight suit kept him warm.

Aya shivered, rubbing her gloved hands together so she would still be able to draw her blaster. Over their helmet comm link, Din quipped that she should have come prepared. She replied with one word: Bespin. While Aya hunted, captured and dragged the bounty back to the ship, he stayed behind for ‘repairs’ in the climate-controlled cockpit.

Din sighed. 

They both turned their attention to the beeping fob. It was getting louder and sharper; the target was in the settlement on the horizon.

*

Walking ahead, Din planned to engage the bounty first. Aya was only a few steps behind, but having an imposing, male Mandalorian stroll in first drew attention away from her. She could sneak in, survey everything and then attack. He gave the signal before entering.

A deadly silence gripped the cantina.

All heads turned to see the shadowed Mandalorian in the entrance. Beady eyes on panicked faces tracked his every step. He could only be there for one thing. Their lives flashed before their eyes, desperately trying to figure out if they could have crossed anyone who would put a bounty on their heads.

A small group of trawlers stared on, undeterred. Their leader, a bald, bearded human male, yelled at the Mandalorian about their drink dripping on the floor next to a blue, quivering Mythrol. Din ignored them and approached the bar. The trawler continued to try to get a reaction out of ‘Mando’. Din vaguely heard the doors slam shut as the bearded man’s breath fanned the side of his helmet.

Wincing, the bartender stumbled closer. His head darted around, trying to figure out where to look at the Mandalorian. His eyes weren’t an option; the dark visor guarded them. He settled at what he assumed was the man’s eyebrows.

“He said you spilt his drink,” the bartender translated.

His face twitched. The Quarren trawler had strolled up and towered over the Mandalorian’s helmet. A third stood on the left side. Boxed in, the only way out was a fight.

“It’s fine.” 

He gave them a warm nod, pointing to the barrels on the side. Then, he noticed another Mandalorian helmet staring at him and gulped. 

“It’s on me.”

Placing a knife against the Mandalorian’s chest plate, the trawler questioned the legitimacy of his armour. A chunk of paint flew off to reveal the glinting Beskar. The Quarren growled; Din didn’t move.

“Here,” the bartender said, sliding the freshly pulled pint towards the group.

Din caught it.

Elbowing one in the neck, he reached around and punched the glass into another’s face. The man crumpled to the floor. Grabbing the bearded man’s arm, Din hoisted him up, twisted his shoulder and stabbed a blade into his back. Din threw him onto the floor, his attention switching to the fleeing Quarren. He fired his grappling line and dragged him back.

Aya slammed her fist against the control panel. Legs flailing, the Quarren screamed curses, thrashing to avoid the closing doors. His body thudded as it hit the floor. Half sat in the cantina; half froze outside.

Din’s helmet slowly turned in Aya’s direction. Lifting her shoulders ever so slightly, she stalked out of the shadows towards the Mythrol.

The blue creature gulped.

The cantina silently stared at the pair of Mandalorians. It had taken all of thirty seconds for them to take out the three trawlers. One laid on the floor, passed out; the other two were dead.

Half-smiling, half-whimpering, the Mythrol said, “we-well, th-thank you. Thank you very much.” His hands pawed at the credits that had fallen out of his jacket. His head bounced as his gaze focused on shoving the money into his pockets. “You have my heartfelt gratitude.” The edges of his lips twitched. Din took a step forward. Raising his hands, the Mythrol added, “you know what? Here. Take my credits.” He shoved them towards the hunters. “Buy the lady a drink.”

Din placed the bounty puck on the table. A hologram of the bounty flickered, the blue bouncing off the armour.

“That you?” Aya asked.

“Not my best angle,” the Mythrol replied, laughing nervously. “Look - there must be some mistake. I can get you more credits -”

"I can bring you in warm -” Din’s hand moved to his blaster. “Or I can bring you incold.”

The Myhtrol’s eyes went wide and pleaded with the female Mandalorian a step behind the towering male. Aya glared back at him under her visor. Most targets thought they could appeal to her and make Din back off. 

Watching her slip the cuffs from the male Mandalorian’s belt, the Mythrol sighed and put out his hands. His attempt failed, and he paid for it in the tight shackles. The woman nudged his shoulder to get him to move. Scrambling to his feet, the Mythrol opted to do as told, squirming as they passed the dismembered Quarren.

*

As Din marched towards the ferry, Aya kept an ear out to ensure that a set of footsteps followed them. The Mythrol trailed behind them, too busy freezing to notice the small helmet tilts and shoulder shifts from the silent conversation a few feet ahead. Then, the Mandalorians stopped.

“We need passage to the yards,” Din said.

The Kubaz played a note on its clarinet-like instrument. A golden speeder approached, complete with an R9 unit driver.

“No droids,” Aya said as Din tensed.

She flicked a few credits at them before they could tell her ‘it was new’, that the droid was ‘the latest model’ or ‘perfectly safe’. After pocketing the money, the Kubaz played another note.

The golden speeder drove off; another replaced it. Aya winces at the spluttering engine and the clattering loose screws. She would have prefered to use the speeder that didn’t look like it would fall apart, but Din’s aversion to droids demanded otherwise. At least it was a walkable distance, if uncomfortable and ideally avoidable, back to the ship.

Din shoved the bounty forward while Aya arranged for the drop-off at the Razor Crest. The Mythrol took the closest seat; Din hogged the other. Sighing, she turned to the driver and the spare seat beside him.

“Back seat,” he said, leaving no room to argue.

Removing his hands from his lap, Din tugged his cape over his front. The driver shrugged and revved the engine. With another sigh, Aya slipped over the bumper side.

The Mythrol looked at the pair. He pinned the Mandalorians as a quiet warrior race. Yet, the woman seemed at ease on the man’s lap, her legs dangling over the edge, his hand holding her waist, his other arm hovering over her thighs like a seatbelt. He gulped and tore his gaze away before they noticed. 

Too late.

Aya’s visor turned to the Mythrol. Another nervous giggle escaped the Mythrol. Looking around, he feigned innocence. Suddenly, the driver was exciting. Din’s hand on Aya tightened; she nodded.

“You know what he’s looking for?” the Mythrol asked the Mandalorians. The only indication that either was listening was the slight tilt of Din’s helmet. He redirected his attention back to the driver holding a pair of scopes. “You’re looking for Ravinaks, right?”

The driver shouted a reply. The wind ripped away most of the words, leaving a muffled string of sounds. Something about it being ‘clear now’, a port and Grey Holds. Din seemed to understand what the man meant so Aya let it be.

Slowly, the Razor Crest came into view.

The Myhtrol let out an unimpressed, “you’re kidding me, right?”

“Get out,” Din ordered.

Aya quickly slipped over the edge. Din followed suit, grabbing the bounty by the scruff of the neck and hoisting him up.

The Mythrol continued, “I’ll hire us a Livery Cruiser. No big deal. It won’t come out of your end. I’ll pay for it.”

Aya raised an eyebrow at that comment. He didn’t have any guards; it was hardly likely he had that kind of money.

“I’m just trying to make it pleasant.”

Once both his feet hit the ice, Din shoved him. The instruction was explicit: move.

“Hey,” the driver said, head not turning to the group. “It’s time to go, so let’s settle up.”

Following their gaze, Aya’s eyes trained on a spot a few hundred feet away. She flicked to infra-red scanners. A yellow blob didn’t match the rest of the black.

“We need to get off the ice,” she warned Din.

She threw the credits at the driver who had a similar warning on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t stick around to find out what happened to the two Mandalorians and the blue Mythrol. With a stuttering start, the engine crawled to life, and the speeder drove off. 

Trembling, the Mythrol asked if Aya was worried about the Ravinaks.

Suddenly, something burst through the ice and swallowed the speeder whole. A thunderous roar followed. Loud cracks and chuckles of ice rose.

“Open the hatch!” the Mythol screamed. Spikes emerged in the ice sheets. “Open the hatch!”

Running towards the ship, the Mythol stumbled and fell flat against the ramp. Large jaws opened. Grabbing their flailing arm, Aya yanked them back. The Mythol panted heavily, grasping a hand over its chest, as huge teeth disappeared. The Ravinak pulled back, hungry.

Darting into the hold, Din found Aya’s visor. A tip of the head towards the cockpit, a quick stroke of a blaster and a helmet tip upwards later, the two parted ways. Din grabbed the bounty and dragged him towards the cockpit; Aya pulled the blaster from her right thigh and stalked towards the side door.

The entire ship jerked.

An alert flashed in Din’s helmet: something grabbed the landing gear. Cursing, he shoved the bounty up the ladder. It quickly moved up, not wanting to be lunch. Din dropped into the pilot’s seat and booted up the engines. The ship hovered but jolted when he pushed for it to move.

Firing her grappling line, Aya tied herself to a large beam. She approached the edge, ready to shoot. Then, the ship disappeared under her for a second; her back smacked into the edge of the door.

“Steady!” she shouted down the commlink.

Din huffed, struggling to keep the ship in the air as the beast divided into the frozen depths. He flicked another switch and engaged another set of thrusters. 

Steadying herself, Aya leant out the door to see half of the landing gear in a Ravinak’s mouth. On the inhale, she aimed at the creature’s long tongue; one the exhale, she pulled the trigger twice.

With a roar, the creature’s jaw flew open.

The ship jerked forward, and Aya stumbled backwards. The door slammed shut. Placing a hand over her racing heart, Aya shoved her blaster back into its holster. She heard the Mythrol’s faint shouts of ‘go, go, go!’ in a high, panicked voice.

Clambering up the ladder, she found Din preparing the jump to hyperspace and the Mythrol in the co-pilot’s seat. It calmed down slightly, jumping when the doors opened but breathing a loud sigh of relief when he saw her. Din’s helmet stayed focused on the navigation computers.

Aya added giant ice snakes to the list of reasons to hate ice planets.

Pulling on an old hinge, she revealed a fold-away seat that creaked and wobbled. A deep exhale made static erupt from her modulator. At least, the bounty was quiet. 

That lasted a total of two minutes and forty-seven seconds.

Squirming, the Mythrol kept sneaking glances at the Mandalorian piloting the ship. He exhaled loudly, smiling at the wall.

“I like your ship,” he said. He leant closer to Din as though the issue was him not hearing due to the helmet. “She’s a classic. Razor Crest, am I right?”

Staring dead ahead, Din pressed a button to confirm the jump to hyperspace.

“Pre-Empire?”

Nothing.

“I have a lot of credits by the way.” Mid-phrase, he turned to Aya with a warm smile in hopes of convincing her. “That’s why I offered to hail a Cruiser.” His voice trailed off as he realised she was cleaning her blasters. Turning back to Din, his voice became desperate and asked, “How much are they paying you?” Out of the corner of her visor, Aya watched him clamp his mouth shut. His eyes trained on Din’s head. “Is it true you guys never take off your helmets?”

She stopped cleaning the blaster; Din stared dead ahead. The Mythrol sighed loudly. He couldn’t provoke a response. 

“Boy. I think I have to use the vac tube,” the Mythrol admitted. Adding a little hip wiggle, he said, “I mean, I can do it here -” he waved his hands, pointing to the seat and his lap. “But if you’ve never seen a Fledgling Mythrol evacuate their thorax,” he chuckled. “You’re a lucky guy.”

Using the gun to point towards the ladder, Aya stated, “down there.”

The Mythrol stood up. He gave her a wide, forced smile as he passed her on the way to the hold. He made a drama out of it by shouting up titbits to explain why he would take a while.

Helmet rolling, Aya reclaimed her co-pilot’s seat. Din’s visor turned slightly in her direction. Ignoring him, she inched closer to the heating unit. A ghost of a smile tugged on his lips until an alert flashed that the armoury was open. They both tensed. Seconds later, it slammed shut.

“Take the ship,” Din said.

Aya nodded and slipped into his seat; Din went to deal with their nosy guest.

Silently dropping into the hold, Din watched the Mythrol browse the collection of frozen bounties. Their long-winded story broke into little phrases. Fear set in, fin ears flapping against his blue head. As he reached the end, Din was standing a foot behind him, cloaked in shadows beside the glint catching on his helmet.

“Guess that’s not gonna happen this year,” the Myrthol said, defeated.

“Probably not.”

Shoving his chest, Din pushed him into the carbon freezer and engaged the machine. A minute later, the Mythrol was in carbonite, propped up against the other bounties.

The ship lurched forward; his stomach trailed behind for several seconds. Entering the cockpit, the familiar blue hues of hyperspace greeted Din. Aya slipped back into the co-pilot seat, hands already hovering over the heating unit. Static crackled from Din’s helmet as he sat down. 

“Last one?” Aya asked, head glancing in his direction.

Din nodded. He checked over the central systems; there was minor damage to the landing gear but nothing he couldn’t fix in an afternoon once they landed on Nevarro.

A quiet hiss bounced around the cockpit as Aya released the vacuum seal of her helmet. A gentle thud followed; the familiar visor stared at him from the dashboard.

Busying himself with watching the navigation computer, Din’s grip on the controls tightened. It was an often enough occurrence that he had gotten used to the helmet not resting on her shoulders, no matter how much it irked him at first. Her tribe was different than his, less strict; she could remove it in front of other Mandalorians if she wanted to. However, it still his back straightening whenever he heard the sound. 

A helmet was a Mandalorian’s soul. 

Aya huffed. She had noticed him tense. While she never commented on his beliefs, it frustrated her when he stared at the space above her head or suddenly got interested in the navigation to avoid seeing her face. Little details made her feelings on the issue clear. Her initial response to his panic was to laugh. Then, it morphed into a pained frown as it clicked that he followed a different belief, a more extreme version that Death Watch peddled.

“Want me to fly this leg?” she offered.

He shook his head and turned back to the navigation.

“Rest,” he said, voice stripped of any emotion.

The chair squeaked as she curled up on it. She watched the lights flying past, rubbing her arms to warm up faster. Eyes growing heavy, her gaze drifted to Din’s tinkering on his vambrace. He was in his little world but would quickly and easily manoeuvre them out of any trouble if it arose. The ship rocked gently, lulling her to sleep.

Once her breathing deepened, Din allowed himself to steal one glance at her. Her nose and the tips of her pointed ears were scratched a deep red by the cold. Removing his cape, Din draped it over her sleeping frame. A weight lifted in his chest when she cuddled into it. Then, he tore his attention away from her. He unclipped the chest plate and pulled out a small tub of brown paint. The trawlers had given him an excuse to touch it up that he hadn’t had in a long time.

*

At hour 9 of 17, Aya yawned. She rubbed her eyes, stretching and slowly waking up. 

“Su cuy’gar,” she mumbled through a yawn. _(Hello.)_

“Su cuy.” _(Hi.)_

Humming, Aya tugged the blanket closer. Her legs were still cold. Then, her eyes noticed it wasn’t one of her furs. The edges frayed; a blaster hole hovered over her right knee. Glancing up at Din, a shy smile appeared on her face.

 _“_ Vor’e _,”_ Aya whispered. _(Thank you.)_

Din gave her a warm nod in response. 

For a few minutes, or what could have been hours, or only milliseconds, the two enjoyed the peace of space. The ship’s engines hummed softly in the background. Bright lights flew by making Aya’s eyes shine a more brilliant blue. She stroked the fabric gently. It was softer than she expected it to be. 

“I need to go off-world when we get back,” Aya said. “Alone.”

Nodding, Din pieced together that she was planning on returning to her covert. An offer to give her a lift hovered on his tongue only for him to swallow the words before they could escape. It was safer if they kept their coverts separate. She could guess his hid on Nevarro but didn’t know where. He knew the odd bit about hers. It was small, smaller than his. Based on the growing stockpile of supplies in the hold, her tribe had found another source of food, likely farming. She didn’t like talking about her home though; Din didn’t either.

“Renting or buying?”

Aya’s ears twitched at the slight hesitation in Din’s voice. After a particularly tricky bounty seven months prior destroyed her ship, she became a permanent member of Din’s crew. They had worked the odd job before, and the Resolnare demanded that he help another Mandalorian in need.

“Buying.”

She had saved up enough to salvage a decent ship. It would be no Razor Crest, a ghost to almost all scanners, but it would have to do.

Din’s helmet made a slight up-down movement. There had always been an unspoken understanding that they would part ways. Eventually, they would retire and return to their coverts; they were merely travelling in the same direction at the moment. However, Din thought - hoped - he wouldn't be losing an effective, efficient partner so soon.

His cape landed in his lap.

Glancing at her from the corner of his visor, he saw her fiddling with her hair. The tight, complicated braid had started coming loose. Lose hair touched her shoulders; larger sections dangled, a few strands holding them up. She tugged on a ribbon and began detangling it. Chocolate curls bounced free, covering half her face and making her sigh. Din couldn’t help but grin when she started brushing it. By the time she finished, it had doubled in size. Aya’s eyes narrowed at him. 

Din found it funny.

Twirling one strand, Aya teased, “maybe I should just shave it?”

His helmet tilted down at her disapprovingly. She knew he liked her hair when it was curly. It made her wonder what colour, length and texture hair he had. Maybe he didn’t have any? Or, perhaps, he was secretly a very short Wookiee and covered head to toe in hair. She chuckled. 

She knew the latter one wasn’t correct.

Din’s growling stomach derailed her train of thought. She instantly jumped up to grab him something. Coming back with a variety of gritty grey snack bars, Aya handed him the two Numa flavoured ones. He thanked her and broke off tiny cubes. She munched her way through a bar of dried Naboo fruit and nuts, watching the lights to give Din space to awkwardly shove the little pieces under his helmet and into his mouth.

When they finished, Aya reached for the central controls. Din grabbed her hand mid-action.

“You need to sleep,” she replied, giving his a poignant look. “I’ll wake you when we reach orbit.”

Din slowly accepted. Slipping into the sole sleeping quarter, he stole one final glance at her. She glared at him. Sheepish, he closed the door. Aya sighed as she heard Din’s helmet seal break. Not even five minutes later, his soft snoring filled the ship. 

Pulling a hand through her hair, she pulled up the holonet and started the long search for a ship. Most were overpriced, falling apart or stolen. 

She sighed again. It had been almost nine months since she last visited her tiny covert. She missed eight birthdays; the youngest would be 12. 

*

Din woke up to pounding on the door. He fumbled and shoved his helmet on.

“Dropping out of hyperspace,” Aya warned.

Seconds later, he felt his stomach smack against his spine. No amount of flying got him used to that feeling.

Aya hopped into the co-pilot’s chair and put her helmet back on. Slipping into the pilot’s seat, Din began the landing sequence. They flicked the switches in a memorised rhythm, neither having to turn to determine which button to press or knob to turn. Flying together for seven months had its advantages.

As they touched down, Din turned to Aya, silently glad to be greeted with the familiar dark T visor rather than her face. She was a Mandalorian; she could handle herself and anything else the galaxy could send her way.

“Watch the offload?” Din asked. He didn’t trust Karga’s men to unload without touching they weren’t supposed to. 

Aya nodded. It wasn’t like she was able to go anywhere without a ship of her own. Watching Din’s figure stroll towards the town, she wished him luck over the comms.

“Don’t need it.”

Snorting, Aya sat down on the ramp and waited. Karga had taken to paying in Imperial Credits or offering a lower rate in other currencies. She hoped Din’s status as the best hunter and her ranking as a valued snipper would tip the scales in their favour. She doubted it, though.

Five minutes later, the guild mercenaries approached the ship. Aya waited for Din’s confirmation signal payment before taking her hand off her blaster. She opened the hold and let them remove the bounties. A quick tap on her vambrace unblocked the carbonite rack. She gently shoved the blocks towards the mercenary at the base of the ramp. They guided the floating carbonite towards a growing line. Another hovered with a scanner, comparing the bounties to the chain codes, checking to see if they were correct and alive.

Once they finished loading the bounties onto a speeder, Aya tapped her vambrace thrice. She sealed up the ship and headed towards the town to claim her portion of the prize.

*

“I have a bail jumper.” Karga placed one puck on the table. “A bail jumper -” another puck. “Another bail jumper.” The pile was up to four. He added one last puck. “A wanted smuggler.”

Reaching forward, Din stated, “I’ll take them all.”

Karga’s hand shot out to cover the pucks. His shoulders tensed and mouth twitched.

“No. Hold on,” he said, voice forceful. Din eased back. “There are other members of the guild, Atin, for example.” He waved his hand in the direction of the female Mandalorian strolling into the cantina. “And this is all I have.”

Leaning back, Din watched Aya carve a path through the cantina to a seat a few paces away. She waved off a drink offer, listening to their conversation while surveying the inhabitants of the cantina.

“Why so slow?” Din asked, head tilting back to Karga.

“It’s not slow at all. Very busy,” Karga explained. “They just don’t want to pay guild rates. They don’t mind if things get sloppy.”

Sighing, Din asked for the highest bounty. Karga was honest enough to admit it wasn’t worth much, 5,000 credits at most.

“That won’t even cover fuel these days.”

Karga nodded, mulling something over before dropping his voice and saying, “there is one job.”

Din asked for the puck; Karga shook his head.

“No puck. Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.”

“Underworld?”

Aya’s helmet turned ever so slightly towards Karga. Jobs like that came up once a blue moon. They paid well - very, very well. But Din didn’t have that kind of skillset; he liked to get up close and personal with his targets.

“All I know is no chain code,” Karga said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic card. “Do you want the chit or not?”

Snatching the chit from him, Din got up. Aya took his seat and turned to Karga.

“You paid him half in Flon,” she said. Karga’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t ask how she knew that detail, assuming it was something to do with their helmets. “I’ll take my half in credits.”

Sighing, Karga dug deep into his pockets and pulled out the 9,000 credits she was due. She shoved them into a pouch and left. Before trying to find a ship, she had a few things to pick up.

*

Weaving a path through narrow winding streets, Aya avoided the large bustling crowds at the centre of the bazaar. Pickpockets ran rife in the city; quick hands brushed against passers-by, taking what wasn’t theirs. The credits rattled in the pouch and drew unnecessary attention. However, the Imperial credits posed a larger problem: merchants charged a mark-up knowing their main clientele, hunters, had little to no choice in their currency or shopping destinations. So, she learnt the specific items that merchants preferred and would lower their offer for; her armour did the rest.

She reached the edge of the bustling market and approached the fruit merchants. Suspected Imperial sympathisers, they were the most lenient on the currency. The family of three greeted her with warm smiles. They happily traded fifty credits for four pounds of Naboo fruit and an extra quarter pound of spices for her ‘health’. Hesitating, Aya recognised them as uncrushed Herbs de Lunar Eclipse. They didn’t have a particularly strong taste, but anything beat dry, flavourless, grey ration bars. She added a few additional credits to the pile before taking the items and moving on her way.

The tailor took the Naboo fruit for seven lines of strong, thin wire; a fishmonger, hailing from the nearby system, demanded a further 100 credits as well as the string for two dozen fish. A metal worker exchanged the fish for some scraps and a couple of circuits; a Jawa happily sold her a tracking beacon that it promised ‘could work across the Outer Rim and into wild space’. She pocketed the device, planning to hand it to the covert so they could still contact her in an emergency without her ship’s frequency.

A new stall caught Aya’s attention. She stalked closer to see dozens of delicately painted desserts in neat stacks. The owner called her forward, eager to get a customer.

“What can I get ya?” they asked, waving a hand over their wears. “Spouse? Child? Parent?”

Each category had a different pile: heart-shaped cakes for partners, animal cookies for kids, delicate designs for parents. Aya pointed to a familiar shape.

“2 dozen,” she said, already reaching for her credits.

“Oh. The mythosaur!” the merchant said. “Of course!” They quickly packaged them up. “They’ll last up to a cycle if you leave them sealed up. Seventy-three credits please.”

Aya handed over the money and took the bag. Ignoring the new glances at the beast’s name, she marched on away from the bustling bazaar towards the shipyard and the medical stand run by an old clone wars vet who struggled to find a spot in the Empire and subsequent New Republic. He was the only one who refused to make any trade. It had to be a proper currency, although he kept the conversion rates fair.

Aya eyed up the small stand. On one side, there was a haphazard pile of equipment in sealed bags ranging from bandages to dressings to scalpels to needles to biodegradable thread. On the right, there was a small row of syringes with little labels of various vaccinations.

“How much for four gallons of bacta?” Aya asked, pointing to the bacta sitting front and centre.

The vet’s eyebrows darted up their forehead at the hunter’s request. It was half of their stock; most needed a fifth for a cycle’s supply.

“3,000 credits. Each.”

Eyes narrowing, Aya noticed the hiked up price. The merchant repeatedly told her ‘it was high quality’. She begged to differ. She read the label on the bags; someone stole them from a Republic facility. It would expire in two cycles.

“1,000.”

“No!” He shook his head, almost offended at her offer. “23 hundred.”

Aya glanced over the other items again. She checked over the bacta, under the vet’s careful supervision, to ensure it didn’t have any lumps. It was indeed of decent quality unlike the half-rotten stuff in Din’s store that he claimed was still in date and perfectly safe.

“7000 for the bacta, and that,” she said, pointing to a collection of swabs, dressing and other loose parts worth a few hundred credits.

The vet weighed up the suggestion. Hunters rarely picked that up, preferring to shove bacta on a wound and leave it be.

“Fine.”

Giving them a nod, Aya slipped a bag from her shoulders. She handed over the credits and carefully placed the items into the bag. Tightening the strap, she checked her surroundings before weaving a path towards the Crest to pick up her small stockpile of supplies so Din could get off-world.

*

Din waited in the hanger, leaning against the wall and fiddling with a dangling cable. Instantly, Aya’s helmet snapped to the shiny new addition to his armour. 

“That’s the down payment,” he stated. His visor found hers. “They’re willing to pay a full camtono of Beskar for the bounty.”

Jaw falling open, Aya had to stop her hand from reaching out to touch the pauldron. A camtono was more than enough for a full suit of armour with a few bars to spare for foundlings or whistling birds.

“Imperial?”

“Yes.”

Din’s tone was harsh.

Nodding slowly, Aya accepted the explanation. The pigs plundered Mandalore and her moon for the metal, stripping the planet bare in the months during the Great Purge.

“Your covert must be very proud,” she said softly.

Din straightened up and gave one sharp nod. They were happy for the return of the Beskar; the source angered them. The metal belonged with the armourers, skilled forgers able to create armour and weapons that were almost indestructible. 

After a deep breath, Din offered, “fifty-fifty split?”

He knew Paz would throw a fit if he heard the suggestion. The idea wouldn’t sit well with the rest of his tribe either. However, they didn’t know her as he did.

“Are you sure?” Aya asked, helmet finally turning to his visor. It was his job; the reward was his. She shouldn’t even know it existed as Karga made it clear it was for Din alone.

“Yes.”

As she inhaled sharply, her modulator let out a burst of static. Her feet began moving towards the cockpit before her brain could decide that one last job was a horrible idea. It would delay her return home by another week. But a little voice whispered that she would be returning with Beskar. And that was worth dying over.

Din followed after her, dropping into the pilot’s seat and initiating the start-up sequence. Five minutes later, the blue lights of hyperspace flew past the large windows.

“Last known location is Arvala-7,” Din announced, leaning back in the chair, hands resting on his thigh guards, head tilting lazily towards the co-pilot’s seat. “And we have a tracking fob.”

Nodding, Aya slipped her bag off her shoulders. She pulled out the bacta, shoving it into a small box under the dash that Din let her store personal items.

“Chain code?”

Her hands rustled the packaging of the biscuits. Half-minded to remove them, Aya carefully placed the entire bag over the bacta. Another time, perhaps. 

“Only the last four digits. The target is fifty.”

Her nod was slower as she processed the detail. The difficulty would be identifying the target; the rest would be the same.

Leaning back against the worn seat, she released the pressure in her helmet but kept it on. For a while, she contently watched the flying blue lights. The navigation kindly informed her that it was an eleven-hour flight to Arvala-7, a deserted desert planet carved up by canyons and rocky mountain ranges.

“Why let me in?” she finally asked.

Faltering, Din answered with the only thing that came to mind: “this is the way.”

Her smile no longer reached her eyes.

Reaching out to trace the edges of the pauldron, Aya felt a clawed hand grab her gut and drag down. The metal was warm to the touch, freshly made, although missing a signet. It had been at least a decade since she last heard the roar of the forge’s blue fire, or the banging of the hammer on Beskar, or the clanging of metal on metal. 

“I only need five bars,” Aya decided.

Unlike Din’s tribe, hers had no forge, nor an armourer with the skill to turn the bars into something more than a misshapen lump. The bars would go a long way to easing the gaping hole in her tribe’s heart, but they would be a poor replacement for any real armour. 

She swallowed down a request to have Din’s armourer forge a set of helmets. It was up to him to invite her to his tribe. And, given their different versions of ‘the way’, she doubted they would feel comfortable creating such a helmet. Shame also bubbled in her chest. Her tribe was only thirteen strong, hiding in the caves of a backwater planet, with only a few pieces of armour and a few helmets to identify them as Mandalorian.

“Aya -”

“Use my share to sponsor foundlings.”

Din’s heart stopped. It was as if she had seen straight into his soul and knew what he once was. His mind struggled to form a coherent sentence. He wanted to thank her, hug her and invite her to see the way the foundlings would smile when they received their first bar of Beskar and excitedly run to the armourer, giggling and whisper-yelling and waving it at anyone and everyone. At the same time, he knew the Beskar belonged with her tribe. It should go to her and her tribe’s foundlings, not his.

His gaze trailed down to her armour. He wore large plates; she had intricate, overlapping, leaf-like pieces covering her body. With the Beskar, surely she could update it?

Din ultimately settled on saying nothing. He gave her a short nod, promising to fulfil her wishes.

“Thank you,” she said softly.


End file.
